It was the summer I turned 15, a magical season for me, because that year I discovered exactly what I wanted to do with my life.
It was more the young boy's mere pipe dream of a distant, hazy future, confused fantasies of being a fireman, detective, sailor, test pilot or spy.
I knew I was going to be a bodybuilder.
It wasn't simply that, either.
I would be the best bodybuilder in the world.
The greatest.
I'm not exactly sure why I chose bodybuilding, except that I loved it.
I loved it from the first moment my fingers closed around a barbell and I felt the challenge and exhilaration of hoisting the heavy steel plates above my head.
I had always been involved in sports through my father, a tall, sturdy man who was a champion at ice curling.
We were a physical family oriented towards training, good eating and keeping the body fit and healthy.
With my father's encouragement, I first got into organized, competitive sports when I was ten.
However, by the time I was 13, team sports no longer satisfied me.
I was already off on an individual trip.
I disliked it when we won a game and I didn't get personal recognition.
The only time I really felt rewarded was when I was singled out as being best.
I decided to try some individual sports.
I still remember my first visit to the bodybuilding gym.
There it was before me, my life, the answer I had been seeking.
It clicked.
The other bodybuilders noticed immediately how hard I was working out.